


im finally alive

by skduar



Series: you didn't do anything wrong [4]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angry Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Blood and Gore, Character Death, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Ending 1 of 3, Gavin is only mentioned, Hurt No Comfort, Insane Connor, Insanity, M/M, Markus is only there for a little bit, Murder, Not Beta Read, Out of Character, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sad Ending, TW: Suicide, Torture, bad hank anderson, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:22:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29929941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skduar/pseuds/skduar
Summary: Connor feels the rage deep within him, knows that it's sweet yet violent whispers will lull him in.Connor feels the blood on his hands, gets his first taste of freedom, and finally learns what it feels like to be alive.
Relationships: Connor & Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Hank Anderson & Connor
Series: you didn't do anything wrong [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2181477
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Suicide, Murder, Alcohol Abuse, Non-Con, Torture
> 
> This is not the end of this series. I plan on writing a sequel to this, or maybe some add ons.

Connor doesn’t know how many times he’s tried scrubbing until his skin glitches out from above his chassis, but he does know that he never feels clean.

There’s always dirt that won't disappear, like dirt _hands_ under your nails that you can’t get out. He feels oily and filthy, but he can’t be because he’s _an android._ And Connor knows that this is all in his head, that he isn’t actually stuck in a pile of grease and sweat but that’s just how he feels.

The morning after Connor returns to the Lieutenant’s house, he feels something dark twisting deep inside of his stomach. In all of the guilt, in all of the shame and disgust there is a voice that whispers into his ears that _“This isn’t fair, Connor.”_ and he knows he can’t afford to listen to it.

But sometimes he can’t help it. He sits on the sofa, an hour remains before it’s time to wake up the Lieutenant. His hands shake, and his chest heaves. But this time it isn’t panic or agony, it’s the unfairness of it all. The rage burns so deep into his wires he feels like they’re melting, and his hands twitch.

It’s tightening around his lungs, coiling around his throat. But it doesn’t suffocate him, it burns. He just wants to grab the nearest object and slam it down the Lieutenant’s throat to the point his esophagus collapses, he wants to rip out his teeth and cut his bleeding gums with a cheese grater. He _wants the Lieutenant to **cry out in pain, and beg like he has so many times before-** _

Connor’s head spasms, and his eyelids twitch. Suddenly the rage has dispersed. It isn’t gone, he feels it’s warmth and the burning in his stomach, but he can think clearly.

The Lieutenant’s alarm goes off and distant curses drift into his ears. The rustling of blankets before a loud stomp and a door creaking, and the Lieutenant hobbles his way to the bathroom.

Connor doesn’t want to see the Lieutenant. He doesn’t want to be near the Lieutenant.

The sound of the Lieutenant retching could be heard from the bathroom, and Connor feels the urge to go in there and drown the Lieutenant in his own bile.

But the feeling gets squashed down, and he begins to prepare eggs. He cracks 2, grabs a fork and he whisks. The image of the Lieutenant’s insides being torn to shreds- and then he adds some milk. Just because.

He then grabs a pan and puts a slice of butter, then spreads it around. The thought of the Lieutenant’s blood being smeared on the wall like finger paintings, dosing the world in a nice shade of red- and then he pours the eggs into the pan.

He grips the spatula with shaking hands, and he stirs slowly. He adds small pieces of cheese, and continues to move the egg around.

He watches the cheese melt into the egg, and he just wishes the Lieutenant would _stop._

He calls out of work, and he huffs out a sigh. The Lieutenant walks out of the bathroom with a scowl on his face, and his hand tightens on the spatula.

“I have some business to attend to with Markus,” He pulled a plate out of the cupboard and began to scoop the eggs up. “I won’t be attending work today.” The Lieutenant nodded and got out a glass of water. He chugged it down in one gulp, and his face twisted into a grimace.

“Yeah, today is gonna suck without you.” He gives a shaky smile and an awkward laugh before placing the plate onto the table. “Thanks,” The Lieutenant scooped some egg in his mouth. Connor ignored the fact that his hands were shaking.

\----

The Lieutenant had left for work, and now it was just Connor and Sumo. He slowly smoothed the top of Sumo’s head, and his tail wagged in appreciation. He sighed before standing up and making his way into the Lieutenant’s room.

He opened the closet and found an old worn backpack that looked stable. It should be able to hold the bare necessities.

He stares into the closet, and he searches for hoodies. A black, dusty old hoodie is the first one he grabs. It would be large on him, but it would do its job. He folds it neatly into the backpack, and takes a deep shuddering breath. 

He looks into the closet again, and grabs an old white and black shirt of the Lieutenants that are around his size, as well as a pair of light blue and black jeans jammed in the back of the closet. He closes the closet door, and neatly folds the clothes in the backpack.

In the bathroom there are thirium packs in the cabinet, and he goes to grab that. After placing them gently on top of all the clothes, he knows that he won’t be able to leave.

He knows he won’t be able to leave Sumo, leave the Lieutenant behind even if he can’t stand him. He still cares.

He walks into the living room, stares into Sumo’s eyes, and reluctantly goes back to the couch. As he lowers himself down, he rubs Sumo behind the ears.

Tonight, he tells himself. I’ll get some rest, and then I’ll leave tonight.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor doesn't want to go through it again, and he makes sure that he doesn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Murder, Torture, Non-Con, Alcohol Abuse

“Connor! Come here!” The Lieutenant roars, and his eyes are alight with the familiar irrational fury that intoxication seems to cause. Connor stumbles up from the couch and clutches his hands in his white dress shirt.

The Lieutenant walks towards him on wobbly legs, and his angered eyes roam his body. He grabs his collar and yanks him forward, then throws him on the kitchen floor.

Connor knows he could have stopped the Lieutenant, he had the ability. But he follows through the push and lands harshly on his back, hands on his sides. He knows what’s going to happen, and he _knew he should have left._

The Lieutenant rips off the buttons with the force of his tugging, and Connor feels the chill of the floor tile on his back. “Leaving me alone at work, making me deal with goddamn Reed!” He hisses, and spit flies over his face. He smells the alcohol on his breath, and his nostrils burn.

He rips his shirt so it reveals his shoulders, and the Lieutenant moves to his own belt. Connor feels his breath get stuck in his lungs, feels his body begin to shake. The weight of the Lieutenant on his waist makes him feel like he’s being suffocated or buried alive.

“Please, stop…” His voice is a rasp, weak to his own ears. The Lieutenant slaps the side of his face, and Connor can’t make himself look into his hate filled eyes. “Don’t fucking talk, you’re going to do what I say.”

He flings his belt buckle into the corner of the room, and Connor flinches at the sound of it hitting the wall. The Lieutenant pulls his pants down slightly, and then begins making work with Connor’s.

Connor’s stomach is burning, and he suddenly realizes that it isn’t _fair._ Why does he have to suffer every day? Why does he still have to be the one having to obey?

Why couldn’t it have been anyone else? It’s a selfish thought, but he just wishes and pleads that it didn’t have to be him.

He wouldn’t wish this on anybody, but right now, he just wants someone else to have to deal with all of this.

And then his belt is getting loosened up around his waist, and he feels his pants sag. And there is a small moment of clarity, that he doesn’t want this, and suddenly he knows that it’s either himself or the Lieutenant.

He raises his hands and he gripped the Lieutenants arms, and he tore them off of himself.

The Lieutenant’s shocked face morphed into one of anger, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Connor didn’t grace him with a response, instead grabbing the nearest object to him which happened to be the photo of Cole. He slammed it into the Lieutenant’s nose, and glass shards bursted around the room.

“Fuck!” He reached his hands to his bleeding nose, stumbling back slightly, but Connor wasn’t done.

He adjusted his grip on the frame and slammed the corner of it into the Lieutenant’s eye. He collapsed, swears and grunts of pain flowing from his lips. Connor dropped the bloodied photo, then grappled for the kitchen knife.

He turned on his heel and saw the Lieutenant kneeling, one eye squinted up at him. Connor felt the burn spread into all of his limbs, felt his vision black out for a second before he kicked the Lieutenant to the ground.

He grabbed the Lieutenant by his hair, and raised the Kitchen knife to the Lieutenant’s lips. “You aren’t touching me ever again,” He snarled, and slammed his fingers into the Lieutenant’s mouth. He put his hand on one of his molars, and he tugged.

It ripped from the Lieutenant’s mouth with a satisfying snap, and a grunt fell from the Lieutenant’s lips. Connor felt the fury engulf him, felt it smile and whisper into his ears.

He wanted the Lieutenant to suffer, he wanted him to feel the same agony he felt but _10x worse._

He opened the Lieutenant’s mouth forcefully, and slowly inched the knife closer. “I don’t want to hear you say any of your filthy words to me again.”

The knife sliced into his tongue slowly, and the Lieutenant struggled. Connor held him in place with his foot, and added a little bit of extra pressure so the Lieutenant could feel the creaking of his ribs.

Screaming muffled around his hands, blood oozing on his fingers, and Connor finally felt alive.

The tongue tumbled out of the Lieutenant’s mouth, and Connor could see he was losing the Lieutenant’s focus. He slapped him harshly on his cheek just as he had slapped Connor earlier, and tugged his hair with blood stained fingers.  
“Look who’s begging now, Lieutenant?” Connor felt the rage simmer with dark glee, and a smile broke out onto his face. He watched stray tears fall from one of the Lieutenant’s eyes, and preened at the blood dribbling from his face.

He grabbed his knife and pulled down the Lieutenant’s pants. He looked at the disgusting sight, and something dark curled inside of him. Quickly, he took the knife and began to saw it off. He ignored the Lieutenant’s choked screams, ignored the Lieutenant gargling on his blood. He wanted it gone, he never wanted to see it again.

It fell off into a heap of blood, and Connor looked at the hazy eye of the Lieutenant. He was drifting, Connor could tell. But his rage still shined brightly. He gripped the knife until his chassis began to glimmer in the artificial light, and with all of his rage, he stabbed it into the Lieutenant’s abdomen. He heard the choked gasp and his gargle, and he stabbed him again.

He felt tears prick his eyes, felt his hands shake, and a sob ripped through his throat. He stabbed him again, and again. He felt the knife slice through skin, he heard the squelch of the organs and the blood. He saw his tears falling, and he felt his rage slowly shimmer away.

His hands, his shirt, his face, his body. It was filthy. The touch never left, but the blood stained. He choked back a sob, felt his agony sucking deep from within him. He felt the knife in his hands, saw the Lieutenant’s corpse. He saw the massacre he caused, he saw the blood.

Even if this was in self defense, this was _torture._

He heaved out a sob and hugged himself with bloodied hands. He’s sorry. He’s so sorry.

He remembers when he could call Lieutenant Hank, when the Lieutenant didn’t come home every night and touch him, when he didn’t violate him like that.

His tears hit the Lieutenant’s corpse, and he felt a scream at the back of his throat. He wanted to wail, he wanted to curse the world for doing this to him. He lifted his head up slowly, his chest heaving, and he turned his head to the form of Sumo whimpering in the corner of the room.

He felt something inside of him crack, he felt the clang of the knife falling to the floor, and he heard himself wail.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor, with his newfound sense of freedom, makes his first big decision.
> 
> He enjoys the feeling of being alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Suicide
> 
> This isn't the end of this series!

Connor stole the Lieutenant’s keys and had stolen his car. He hadn’t thought about cleaning up, he was in too much of a hurry. His blood stained hands had gripped the wheel and drove without a destination. The blood seared into his skin.

He pulled into a parking lot and found himself face to face with the park he and the Lieutenant had been at before the revolution. Connor felt his eyes burn and he blinked the tears away.

He didn’t know what to _do._

He could call Gavin, but he didn’t know how he’d react. He didn’t even clean the blood off of him, all that had been on his mind was to leave. And now he was utterly lost, and the weight of murder heavy on his shoulders. _He ignored the fact that he felt more free than he ever had before._

Connor closes his eyes and sighed, before contacting someone he knew he’d regret.

_RK800 - Markus?_

_RK200 - Connor? What’s wrong?_

Connor took in a shuddering breath, and felt his hands shake.

_RK800 - I did something really bad Markus._

_RK200 - What? Is everything all right? What did you do?_

Connor felt a sob escape him, and he quickly bit it back.

_RK800 - I killed him, Markus._

_RK200 - Connor? What? What do you mean killed?_

_RK800 - I had no choice, I swear… I was so tired of everything, of having to deal with it… but I went overboard and- Markus, I don’t know what to do!_

_RK200 - This isn’t just something you can do, Connor. Do you understand the situation we’re in right now?_

_RK800 - I know, Markus! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry… I didn’t mean to, but I felt so trapped but then I felt free. He would have just done it again some other day and- please, please, I’m so sorry-_

_RK200 - Connor, where are you right now?_

_RK800 - I- I felt so angry-_

_RK200 - Connor! I need you to tell me where you are!_

_RK800 - Markus, I’m sorry- Please, I didn’t want to-_

**RK800 HAS CLOSED THE CONNECTION**   


Connor looked over at the bench the Lieutenant had sat at, and he unlocked the door.

He knew there was no salvation for him, no going back for what he did. He’s finally free, he didn’t have to follow what anyone said anymore.

He walked over to the sidewalk and looked over at the ocean. The glimmering lights of the city twinkled over the waters, and it looked like an ocean of rainbow. It was hypnotizing, beautiful dare he say.

And then Connor realized how high up it was.

He stared, and stared, but then suddenly clarity came.

He knew what he needed to do.

In order to be free, free from the world, free from the law, free from his guilt, free from himself. The dried blood crusted over his chassis, and he slowly stood above the rail.

The fall would not kill him instantly, but it would cause quite a decent amount of damage. The ocean would do the rest, as breathing was important to cool his biocomponents lest they overheat.

He stood on the guard rail on for once steady legs, and his chest felt light. He still felt the hands, still felt their touch, but the breeze blew them away.

Connor watched the ocean twinkle with the lights of the city, and then he jumped.

The wind whipped his air, and he felt as if he was flying. The exhilarating feeling of nothing being under or around you, nothing to stop your descent. 

Then he felt the water, and the force of him hitting it caused a sensation of pain to erupt around his biocomponents. The water drifted him away, and all he saw murky darkness. He saw some blurry lights from the surface, and the roaring of the water filled his audio processors.

He inhaled some of the ocean, and warnings and error messages filled his vision.

He was a waterproof android, but they didn’t plan for any water to get inside of him. The only thing waterproof was his chassis.

He felt the feeling of freedom envelop him, the satisfaction of being able to make such an important choice by himself, and he let the water drift him away.

It’s funny, Connor thinks. That death is what makes me feel alive.


End file.
